


Redemption

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anti-Shippers, Cyberbullying, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Drama, Fandom, Forgiveness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 16:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16245356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Shiro was shocked by what he found.Never before had he experienced cyberbullying, but here was his brother at the centre of such harassment. Had he failed Keith? What had driven someone he loved into such abusive actions? Shiro owed it to Keith to support him through his phase, so that he could grow and evolve into a better person. He would love Keith no matter what.





	Redemption

_‘No, Mommy! Don’t leave me!’_

_Keith clung to her jeans. Two tiny hands dug into the denim, leaving bruises on dark skin, and – with every choked sob – tears spilled down his cheeks, where they merged with mucus into a messy and unattractive mess over his flushed face. The black hair was slicked back with sweat, while ear-piercingly loud wails echoed about the tiny shack. It was more than Shiro could bear. He pressed his hands over his ears, as he screwed shut his eyes._

_The groceries lay scattered across the floor, with an apple still rolling from the kitchen, and – as it struck the edge of his hand-me-down shoes – Shiro kicked it back towards the small kitchenette, where it knocked against the foot of their father. He was struggling to hold back tears, as he hunched over the plastic countertops. Only the almost imperceptible shakes of his shoulders betrayed his pain. Shiro continued to open and close his eyes, desperate to drive away the images from his mind, as they flashed in and out of focus._

_Krolia tugged and pried at his hands, but each time one let go the other would grab again, and Shiro would have to press ever harder to his ears to block out the screams, while Keith struggled to breathe and sometimes lost his breath. He was swaying where he stood, as he started to instead pound and strike at Krolia with tiny fists. Krolia stepped back. There was no explanation, no reasons, and no justification . . . just a silent removal from their lives._

_‘Why don’t you want me, Mommy?’_

_The question hung heavy about the shack. A tremble to Keith’s voice made him sound weak . . . vulnerable . . . every word was barely above a whisper, as he dropped to his knees with a heavy thud, and fell back onto his buttocks. He sat staring up with a craned neck, where the woman above him showed no emotion and gave no response. Krolia pursed her lips into a thin line. Every instinct screamed at Shiro to run to Keith, but he knew nothing could help . . . nothing could ease Keith’s pain . . . Keith pleaded:_

_‘What did I do wrong?’_

_Krolia walked away, each step steady and slow. Keith ran after her, but each stride was too long for his small legs, and soon she was on her bike with only tracks in the dirt to mark that she was ever present, where Keith continued to run after her ever diminishing shadow. He slipped in the dirt. Shiro was already chasing after him, while Keith simply lay broken in the desert sands and reached out towards her with a trembling hand. It was too much._

_Keith screamed._

* * *

“Keith, can you come down?”

Shiro stood with folded arms. The staircase winded up the three-story house with a great deal of shadow, hiding certain corners entirely from sight, and yet it was cosy with an array of family photographs lining the walls and consuming all sense of space. A pile of mechanic books sat on the first landing, along with various tool boxes and oily rags. Shiro flared his nostrils and shook his head. He opened his mouth to complain, but soon footsteps echoed out and Keith came down the steps to the first landing, where he looked down with a frown.

He wore an old pair of jeans, ripped and stained from hours spent at work, and his black t-shirt was askew and inside out, as if quickly donned in a rush to look decent. A flush coloured his pale cheeks. Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose, as he reminded himself that Keith was seventeen and such behaviours were normal, but that did little to help his fists to unclench, as he saw the sight of a visible bite-mark on his neck. Keith asked:

“What’s up? I said I would help Lance study.”

Shiro fished out the phone from his pocket. He stabbed at the screen quick and harsh, while he pulled up the various pages that flashed with the bright images of familiar blogs, and – as the usual bio popped up – he spun the phone around to Keith’s direction. Keith quirked an eyebrow and pursed his lips, as he slowly stepped down into the main hall with hands shoved deep into his pockets. He stopped just a few feet before Shiro.

A sudden paleness overtook his features, as his mouth gaped open and his eyes widened, but he said nothing as he reached with a shaking hand to the phone, and – flicking through various tabs – the screen flashed different lights about his face. The final tab cast him in shadow, as his personal blog filled the screen with its pastel hues and overloaded features, but those same shadows only emphasised the tremble to his lip. Keith pushed the phone away, as Shiro lowered it back into his pocket and clicked it onto stand-by mode.

“How – How did you _find_ my pages?”

Shiro let loose a hiss of breath. He nodded over to the lounge, where the leather sofas reflected a great deal of light from the French doors that opened out onto the veranda, and the material squeaked underneath him as he sat down with a sigh, while Keith could only follow with head hung low and canine teeth digging into his lips. Keith collapsed into a nearby armchair, as he parted his legs and dropped his hands between them, but no words followed and Shiro was left alone to break the silence. He pointed to a laptop on the coffee-table.

“It’s true,” said Shiro. “It’s true you run these pages.”

“That doesn’t sound like a question.”

“It’s not. You asked how I knew the truth.” Shiro shook his head. “James came to me after class, said that he had some concerns after finding a blog that he was _sure_ you ran, and – well – I didn’t believe him at first, but . . . you didn’t exactly abide by Internet safety advice. You ran those _trivial_ games that I warned you to stay away from, Keith.

“You looked up your cartoon name based on your birth-date. You looked up your whatever-meme-result from your initials. You revealed your age and race and sexuality all on your ‘biography’. It took James a while to be certain, but I knew as soon as I saw the basic information. You even posted photographs, Keith! Sure, not of your face, but I could see your bedroom in some photographs and our front door in others. It’s you. I know it’s you.”

“O-Okay, so I have some blogs . . . what of it?”

“This isn’t _just_ about having some blogs, Keith. What – What _is_ this?” Shiro clicked open the laptop and spun it around. “‘Go choke on glass’? ‘Kill yourself, thanks’? ‘Fuck off, paedophile’? Oh, this one is my favourite: ‘you disgusting piece of abuse-glorifying shit’. It’s almost as joyous as when you call someone a ‘child rapist’ over something called a ‘fanfiction’. Is this how you act in real-life? Is it that you’re hiding behind a screen?”

Keith fisted his hands. The knuckles turned white, while his jaw clenched with lips pursed into a tight line, and his breath came out in deep hisses from flared nostrils, as he locked eyes with Shiro and refused to break away even for a second. Every rise and fall of his chest was matched by the racing beats of Shiro’s heart, and it was all he could hear . . . _pound, pound, pound_. . .  Shiro could barely stand the awful sound, as he saw tears prick at Keith’s eyes. A single tear threatened to fall, as it distorted his blue-grey eyes. Keith choked out:

“You don’t _get_ it, Shiro. They –”

“Oh, you’re right. I _don’t_ get it.” Shiro rolled his eyes. “Do two wrongs make a right? Even if you truly believed these people had committed a crime or were normalising abuse, why wouldn’t you contact the sites or contact the police or civilly argue with objective sources? I don’t understand why you would resort to suicide-baiting. That’s a _crime_ , Keith. Do you know you could get a criminal record if any of these people press charges?”

“Yeah, but no one does anything, do they? I report them over and over, but no one does anything to stop them! This one site keeps saying that it’s legal and they’re against censorship, so – what – they gives these people a right to write stuff that is really _disgusting_ and _wrong_? You don’t agree with this stuff, do you? What about survivors?

“I suffered. I endured pain. Every time they write this stuff, it’s like they’re saying people like me are just tools to get off or our pain isn’t really that serious, and it’s like – it’s like they’re insulting _me_ . . . it’s my pain they’re writing about, but if I say that to them then they just say it’s not personal and that other people suffer to and that they have a right to write about dark topics. They say it’s probably trigger warned, but it _still exists_ , and I know –”

“Just because you suffered doesn’t give you the right to make others suffer! You don’t get a monopoly on pain. You don’t get to decide who copes in a ‘correct’ manner. What kind of egotism is this, Keith? You don’t get to play judge and jury over strangers!”

“So they should just get to write what they want without any punishment?”

“Yes,” shouted Shiro. “ _Yes_! You can’t be the one to punish them.”

Shiro dropped back onto the sofa. He threw his hands over his face, as he closed his eyes and breathed deep through his fingers, but it did little to prevent the spots of colour from crashing across his retinas, while he struggled to swallow back the bile in his throat. A noise from upstairs revealed that Lance was getting impatient . . . footsteps back and forth, a low thrum of music, and the squeak of an antique wardrobe opening wide . . . Shiro dropped his hands to his sides and took in a deep breath. He forced a trembling smile.

“It’s just fiction, Keith,” whispered Shiro. “If you’re looking at this work to be harmed by it, that’s your responsibility for ignoring all the warnings. If you are triggered just by a summary or a list of trigger warnings, maybe . . . maybe we need to get you into therapy again.”

“That’s what they say,” mumbled Keith.

“They’re not wrong, Keith. You’re saying you can’t cope with something just existing, which is a pretty big concern, and – on some of these posts – you’re conflating fact with fiction by claiming these stories will _make_ people commit crimes. I’ve caught you watching everything from pornography to gore movies, Keith. They never made you do bad things . . .”

Shiro pulled himself onto his feet. He looked down at Keith, who bore the expression of a petulant child caught with their hand in the cookie jar, and yet he also saw a spark of guilt that made it clear he still retained some humanity even in moments of great cruelty. Shiro slammed the laptop closed, before lifted it under his arm and slowly walking towards the staircase, but Keith continued to remain lost in silence. There was little to say, at least while emotions ran so high. Shiro tapped at the banister and whispered:

“. . . or maybe they did make you do bad things.”

A small choked sob escaped Keith’s throat. It nearly broke Shiro’s heart, as he turned his back to his brother, especially as tears burned hot in his eyes and blurred his vision, but he breathed deep and made his way up the stairs. Every creak competed with the soft cries, until – pushing past Lance on the first landing – Shiro made his way toward his bedroom. The tears fell freely as he thought to how he failed Keith. He was a bad guardian.

* * *

_The rain poured down over the coffin. It struck hard at the cheap wood, turning the pine into a dark shade like the other caskets displayed in the funeral parlour, and – for a brief moment – Shiro was relieved of his intense guilt . . . few would pay close attention. The flowers were mostly donated from the fire department, so fresh in bloom that the white lilies could have easily been picked that morning. A few lay scattered over the coffin._

_Keith clung to Shiro’s hand, as he tugged for attention. A sharp squeeze was enough to provide some reassurance, enough that Keith ducked underneath his arm and leaned against him with loud sniffs, but nothing would be enough to dry the tears that mingled with the falling raindrops. Keith had long stopped begging to see the body . . . insisting that Papa would wake up, insisting that Papa would never leave him . . . Keith was quiet now. The only sounds would be the occasional sobs at night and muttered complaints come dawn._

_The men in uniform would whisper to one another . . . a few would compliment the efforts made, a few would insult the poor service . . . none dared look in their direction, as if grief and misfortune could somehow be contagious. They were alone. Shiro gripped hard onto the tiny shoulder, while he pulled Keith impossibly tight, but the rain continued to fall and soak them to their skin. It was a cold and lonely day, with only more to follow._

* * *

The sheets were cool to the touch. They draped beautifully over Allura, where they accentuated every natural curve and clung to her frame with a light weight, and her long locks of white hair curled over her shoulder and fell into the line of cleavage. Shiro climbed into bed beside her, where he placed a chaste kiss to her warm forehead. He smiled as her eyes fluttered open and she stretched out with a feline grace.

He stroked at her hair, as she snuggled closer with a smile. The small moments of intimacy warmed his heart, enough that he smiled and wrapped his arms around her, and – for a moment – he could forget that there was a world outside their master bedroom. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, while he breathed deep the scent of her sweet perfume. Time stood still around them. The ticking clock sliced through every second, as Allura pressed kisses to his collarbone and asked in a gentle voice that calmed his nerves:

“Do you still struggle to sleep?”

Shiro winced and pursed his lips. The moonlight shone through the gap in the curtains, as it struck against her cheek and made her blue eyes glisten, and he pulled back enough to see the purple flecks that speckled her irises. It was easy to forget the arguments and tantrums, as well as the screaming matches that left his voice hoarse, but instead they were alone in a world of their own creation and able to freely communicate anything and everything. He struggled to stop his lips from trembling, as he choked out in a whisper:

“I feel like I failed him, Allura.”

A soft sigh escaped Allura’s lips, as she gently extricated herself from his hold. It took only a few seconds for her to position the pillows plump behind her, as she sat upright and let the covers fall to expose her ample chest, and – with a smile – she guided his head into her lap and stroked at the short undercut just behind his ears. He hummed with mild contentment, as he played with the hem of the blanket across her thighs. Tears pricked at his eyes.

“Talk to me,” whispered Allura.

“I didn’t even know this ‘anti-shipper’ thing existed,” muttered Shiro. “I work with kids on a daily basis, but here he is sending threats to total strangers over . . . _over what_ . . . words on a screen? I looked up the legality of these works. They all abide by the law, and they all abide by site rules, but still he keeps treating these people like subhuman trash.”

“I suppose he sees things in black-and-white terms.” Allura hummed. “If you were to tell me that rape or torture were acceptable, I would respond with some level of disgust and condemn such words without any desire for discourse. It is possible he sees such stories as ‘evil’.”

“If he sees something fictional as the _same_ as real-life crime, there’s something very wrong with him. Isn’t it insulting to survivors? It’s like he’s saying what they endured is the same as something concocted from the mind of another, and that – that just . . . it trivialises their suffering, right? If someone compared my personal traumas to ‘Game of Thrones’, I’d be so insulted and so furious and so confused! It can’t be the same, can it?”

Allura sighed. It was a neutral sound that cut to his core, while she dropped her head back and stared upward to the ceiling, and – as he rolled onto his back – it was clear that a great deal of consideration was writ across her features, with her brow knitted and eyes narrowed. Shiro watched her for a long few minutes, while she continued to caress his jaw and stroke at his hair, and he was almost lulled into a deep sleep. It took all his strength to stay awake, as he drew in a deep breath and fought his fatigue to say in a cold voice:

“He also thinks fiction can make people commit crimes.”

“Ah, now that is more problematic.”

“Yeah, it just seems like it would excuse the abusers?” Shiro furrowed his brow. “Keith suffered so much when his mother abandoned him, and it’s not been an easy road for him since then, what with school and bullying and so forth. I just can’t imagine why he would take away blame from the people who hurt him, by saying a story made them do it!”

“I believe he has misunderstood some basic sociological and psychological effects,” said Allura. “I saw him cite the ‘Jaws Effect’, but he failed to recognise that the fear of sharks was a result of that film being the public’s only exposure to sharks, as such – due to their lack of awareness – they assumed what they saw was real. It can hardly be compared to rape or abuse, which we are well aware is detrimental and immoral and know a great deal about.”

“Exactly . . . hence why Shakespeare never ‘normalised’ rape.”

“I have also yet to see anyone recreate scenes from ‘ _The Human Centipede’_. We assume that to normalise something simply means to be exposed to it, but this is not the case . . . it must be explained to Keith that normalisation is a top-down process, with our acceptance stemming from authority figures and what they teach, and this is why propaganda works so well when ‘special episodes’ often fail in comparison to teach a message.”

“So I need to teach him to separate fact from fiction?” Shiro laughed. “I didn’t think I would have to explain never to re-enact _‘Tom and Jerry’_ , but – hey – somehow he managed not to whack me on the head with a mallet when he was growing up. It’s why I don’t understand it, but I think . . . I sometimes think he’s using it as an excuse. It’s like they indoctrinated him.”

“That may well be the case, my love.”

Shiro rapidly blinked. He stared aimlessly upward, until he slowly sat upright. The bed creaked beneath him, as he turned around to sit cross-legged before Allura, and – despite his immodest state – nothing was said and her eyes never wandered. A fast beat pounded in his ears, which blocked out all other sounds to his horror. Shiro swallowed hard. Allura reached out to run her hands over his stubble with a sad smile, as he nuzzled into her hand with tears threatening to fall down his cheeks, and he asked in a quiet voice:

“How _could_ they indoctrinate him?”

“It seems that they ‘callout’ anyone who disagrees with them,” said Allura. “I have seen some labelled as ‘paedophiles’ or ‘abuse apologists’ in turn, with the attacks then being aimed at them, and so begins a climate of fear in which people refuse to speak against those abusers for fear of being abused. They also fear the results of their ‘initiation’.

“I have seen many forced to disclose a great deal of personal information. There are some who are made to disclose details of their abuse, so that they can ‘prove’ they have a right to ‘cope-ship’ or engage in such discourse. To be rejected means to have that used against you.”

“No one would be that sick as to attack someone at their weakest, though.”

“Until today, you thought no one would be so sick as to attack another over a ‘ship’.”

It was a heavy realisation. Shiro shook his head and climbed out of bed. The carpet was cool against his feet, with the shag soft between his toes, and – as he hunched over with hands clenching the edge of the mattress – Allura crawled behind him and massaged the tense muscles of his shoulders. He said nothing as those deft fingers worked out every knot from his hardened form, but the tears already cloyed at the back of his throat until he choked, and he struggled to form words as he silently sobbed. Every wracked sob was felt by her touch.

“We will save Keith, I swear,” said Allura.

Shiro finally wept. The tears streamed down his cheeks, as she wrapped her arms around his waist and placed kisses along his neck, and yet the warm touch of her body provided no comfort, as the tears blurred his vision and stung his eyes. The distorted image of the room around his disorientated him, as he fell forward and buried his face into his hands. There was nothing to ease his pain. He failed Keith. He failed his younger brother.

* * *

_Shiro gripped the papers hard. They crinkled and creased in his hand, while the official stamp of the Galaxy High School reflected the artificial light from the bulb above, and Shiro could only slam the papers down onto the kitchen table. The various storage boxes rattled and shook, while Keith continued to unpack shiny appliances with wide-eyed wonder, as if nothing were amiss with their situation. Light shone through the large bay windows._

_The rest of the mail piled up beside a tattered box of knick-knacks, where his pay-cheque sat ready to be opened with the same embossed stamp from the same school, and Shiro struggled to keep down the contents of his stomach, as he dreaded the upcoming classes. He brought a hand to his chest, where he gripped tight . . . Keith was oblivious to the potential lay-off, as he struggled to find places for the new items even in a sea of cabinets and marble countertops, and he smiled on sight of the fridge with its dedicated ice-maker. It was still a novelty._

_‘We need to plan what to do next,’ said Shiro._

_Keith frowned, as Shiro walked behind him. He clamped a hand down on his shoulder, where he squeezed tight and pressed a chaste kiss to black hair, and he drew in a deep breath to process the scent of honey and apples, while the framed photograph of their father hung on the kitchen wall. It was the first item unpacked. The smiling face stared beyond the glass without judgement or malice, as he half-sat astride the powerful motorbike, and the leather outfit stood in sharp contrast to memories of his usual uniform._

_They stood in silence. The whirring noise of a lawnmower on a neighbouring lawn echoed out, while someone laughed with the mailman outside, and Shiro squeezed tight as he feared the potential search for a new job and the risk of losing so much gained. He couldn’t tell Keith, lest he only add to his stress and worries, and they still needed to work out a way forward . . . a new school, an apprenticeship . . . Keith couldn’t go on alone._

* * *

“Hey, dude, can we talk?”

Lance bit the inside of his lip. He scratched at his neck, while he handed Keith a cold glass of lemonade, and – as Keith took it in hand – the beads of condensation dripped down the sides and ran over his fingers, providing a grounding sensation. The sunlight was bright outside, casting dark shadows across Keith’s features and adding to the natural lines about his eyes, which brought a smile to Lance as he sat on the iron-wrought bench beside him.

The garden was beautiful and extended all around the house, with various tress strategically placed by the gardeners over the years, and large flowerbeds sent the sweet scent of pollen drifting into the air around them, which he breathed deep with a low hum. Lance sipped at his glass in one hand, while Keith did the same beside him. A small move of his free hand brought his in contact with Keith, until they entwined fingers and squeezed with a gesture of reassurance, and together sat in relative silence with their cool beverages. Keith asked:

“What’s up?”

Lance squeezed again, as he carefully considered his words. He glanced through the French doors where Shiro dusted and cleaned in the large lounge, before chancing a look towards the conservatory and greenhouse, where Coran and Allura respectively lingered. They had some modicum of privacy, which was enough for them to have a serious discussion. A buzz from Keith’s phone brought a wince from Lance. He held ever tighter, as his heart raced and his mouth ran dry, and it took all his strength to finally address the elephant in the room.

“Shiro asked me to talk to you,” confessed Lance.

Keith froze. The muscles of his hand tightened and tensed, as Keith paused with glass pressed to his lips, and – as he slowly lowered the glass – he turned his head to lock eyes with Lance, who could only turn his head away with a blush. A cool breeze blew across the patio. Keith dropped his glass onto the side table, while he let loose a low hiss of breath. The seconds passed like minutes, as Lance gnawed at his lip and swirled the contents of his glass, and he struggled to maintain his racing heart as he worked up the courage to promise:

“I’m not going to judge you, I swear.”

“Yeah, really sounds like it.”

“I just want to know why – _you know_ – you’ve been so harsh to people online.” Lance scratched at his neck. “You’re always so nice in person. I mean – sure – we argue and stuff, but you always draw lines and never cross them, and I can trust you with my life. I can’t imagine you’d align with a bunch of bullies for no reason, but at the same time . . . yeah.”

“They understand me, Lance.” Keith shrugged. “Do you know what it’s like to have everyone abandon you and hate you? Shiro is the only person who ever stuck by me. Even when I went through a rebellious phase, like when I stole his car or got expelled from school, he would still be at my side and help me out. I guess . . . I guess I turned to people online, because I didn’t want to alienate him or worry him. They made me feel better.

“I – I kept seeing people writing the worst stuff . . . really sick stuff . . . I guess it was like – I don’t know . . . it was like they were taking my traumas and making light of them, so I was getting so _angry_ , because I couldn’t get them to listen or stop, and then there were these people just as angry and just as understanding about stuff. It felt like we were doing something right by punishing people that no one else would punish. It was . . . just.”

“Iverson once told us that righteous anger was the most addictive emotion,” muttered Lance. “I think it was like it gave you the thrill of being ‘right’ or something? You get a rush that you’re fully justified and validated, but then get to get revenge on people who hurt you, so it’s just this drug and you want more and more. It’s like a power trip.”

“Shiro did say I was playing God.”

“Well, aren’t you? You’re saying you know who best.”

Lance reached across to drop his glass on the table. He pulled back and spun around, so that he could take both of Keith’s hands and bring them to his lips, and – smothering them with chaste kisses – he looked into eyes filled with doubt and pain. There was a shimmer of unshed tears, while Keith’s lip trembled, and the depths of all those negative emotions became apparent, as Lance saw what was kept secret for so long over the years. It was like a dam ready to burst, as Keith visibly swallowed and muttered in a low voice:

“I’m just saying it’s not _right_ for people to romanticise abuse.”

“Okay, but what about other survivors?” Lance shrugged. “I know Pidge uses fiction to cope with stuff, but even her therapist said it was a good idea . . . she gets to explore ‘what if’ scenarios, regain control over her trauma and control what happens, and she gets to process it in a sort of order. It helps to see it from an outside perspective.”

“So you think it’s good she’s re-traumatising herself?”

“You really want to argue it’s a form of self-harm? You’re not her therapist. I mean the _last_ time I checked, you hadn’t even graduated from high school, Keith! You don’t know psychology like someone with a degree and classes and experience. You also don’t know Pidge’s exact circumstances or beliefs or issues to judge what works for her, so maybe don’t go around acting like you know what’s healthy for other people or not?”

A low scoff was the only response. Keith tried to pull away, but Lance pulled him back and held him firmly in place, until he slapped his hands onto broad shoulders, and he soon squeezed with more strength than intended. It drew Keith’s gaze straight to him, as he forced a bright smile and leaned into his personal space. A soft kiss was pressed to his cheek. Tears fell freely down Keith’s cheeks, as he struggled again and stopped only when Lance threw his arms around him and held him tight. It was an intimate embrace, as Lance whispered:

“You owe those people an apology, Keith.”

Keith sobbed into his collar, as he buried his face into the crook of Lance’s neck, and clung to Lance’s back with fingers digging into his green jacket. It was the first time Keith cried before him . . . always striving to be strong, always wanting to be stoic . . . Lance cradled his head in one hand, while stroking at his neck with the other, and together they simply cried until all the tears finally were released. Keith said in a shudder breath:

“I’ll – I’ll think about it . . .”

* * *

_‘Oh, Keith’, whispered Shiro._

_The friend request was finally accepted. A picture of a colleague graced his screen, one borrowed with permission from an old scrap-book, and one that Keith would never have seen, being that the teacher was now thirty years older and sans beard. Shiro clicked through to the main page hidden from the public, where various memes and GIFs loaded most of the page, but – to his embarrassment – most were unrecognisable to him. He moved to the words left by others, posts to the ‘feed’ and winced with tears brimming as he read:_

_. . . ‘no surprise the orphan was kicked out, no one wants a loser around’ . . . ‘just looking at him makes me want to kms’ . . . ‘he only got in because his brother works here’ . . . ‘lol, still alive, freak?’ . . . ‘the weirdo isn’t online any more, I guess we won, right?’ . . ._

_Shiro ran a hand over his face. He pursed his lips into a thin line, while he scrolled through the rest of the posts by various students with no shame and no fear of being caught, and – as he took various screenshots – new posts would appear every few minutes, until he realised there was too much evidence to collate for the police. It would explain why Keith trusted no one and why Keith was expelled for anger issues, as the whole world seemed out to get him from the perspective of one lost and lonely teenager. Shiro choked:_

_‘Why didn’t you tell me?’_

_Shiro leaned back in his office chair, while Allura sat on the edge of the desk. The creases of her skirts left long shadows about her legs, as she nursed a steaming cup of cocoa with a lowered head and half-lidded eyes, and – as she pursed and gnawed at her lips – Shiro saw the reflected depths of despair. They sat together in silence. Allura said not a word, even as Shiro contacted the police and the school, and the dial-tone echoed in his ears as he finally ended the last conversation. Shiro blinked back his tears to ask:_

_‘Wouldn’t this build empathy, if anything?’_

_‘He must have endured great pain,’ observed Allura. ‘I can only assume that he regained a sense of control by harming others, as he took the weapon used against him and owned it with a sense of skill, and this perhaps made his pain lessen, as he could change his status from “victim” to “abuser”. I imagine anything is preferable to being a victim.’_

_‘But he_ knows _the pain this causes!’ Shiro shook his head. ‘He was driven to expulsion. He was driven to self-harm and depression. They made him feel worthless and unloved, when all he wanted was to fit in and find some stability, and he’s doing this to other people?’_

_‘He is still young, Shiro. I promise he will grow and change.’_

_‘I hope so, because I know he isn’t a bully . . .’_

_Shiro reached for the framed photograph. It sat beside the new monitor, where an image of Keith lay immortalised behind the glass, and he stroked the pad of his thumb over those rosy cheeks with a sad smile, as he tried not to think about how he went wrong. Allura placed a hand on his shoulder, as she squeezed with a gentle touch, but it did nothing to stop the tears from spilling from his eyes as he pulled the photograph to his chest. A tear dropped onto the glass, as it rolled down onto the frame made from pasta pieces. Shiro wept._

* * *

Keith swallowed hard.

The apology took up a great deal of the screen. It would only take one click to post its contents, where the world would see him own up to mistakes made, and he could then move forward into becoming a better person, but he also knew the onslaught that would follow. He would need to be strong to fight off the anonymous hatred and brutal attacks, but he knew – without doubt – his family and friends would support him. Keith pressed ‘post’.

A sigh of relief came from behind him, as Shiro clapped a hand on his shoulder. Keith hunched his shoulders and fell back into the chair, as he ran his hands over his face with a shuddered sigh, and suddenly the screen fell to black as Allura gently closed the laptop. The loud click signified a fresh start. Keith stared up at the ceiling, as Shiro leaned forward and filled his entire sight, and he smiled to see that warm face filled with support. He climbed to his feet and turned to face Shiro, who chirped out with a kind voice:

“I’m proud of you, Keith.”

Shiro embraced Keith. It was good to be wrapped in muscular arms, almost like being a child again, and – as he smiled and rested his head on the firm chest – memories flooded back of all the times Shiro eased his nightmares and made everything better. Allura leaned in to kiss his head, while whispering everything would be well again. It was quiet indoors. The only sounds were the whirring fans of the laptop cooling down and the hissing of the electric kettle from the kitchen, and Keith blinked open his eyes as Lance whispered:

“I’m glad you’re putting stuff right.”

Lance took his hand and squeezed it tight, while Shiro reluctantly let go, and soon Keith threw his arms around Lance, as they held one another with such closeness that they were almost lost within one another, but Keith would not have traded it for the world. He breathed deep the subtle cologne, while nuzzling against the beautiful brown skin, and – through all his mistakes and wrongdoings – they forgave him and supported him as he strove to become a better person. Keith pulled back with a chuckle, as he conceded:

“I still think that I ought to just delete everything.”

“What? And worry everyone half to death?”

“Lance is right,” added Shiro. “You did make some genuine friends. If you just deleted, they’d always worry and never have any closure. Why not just leave that post up for a few days or weeks? You can always delete once people realise you’ve left. In the meantime, I think we ought to delete your other social media. It’s best to avoid the temptation.”

“Not to mention, you always have us!” Lance pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek. “If you want attention and support, we’ll give you it ten times over! I already have a barbeque planned with Hunk and a laser-tag night with Pidge, so you won’t get bored.”

“We love you, Keith. We just want you to get better.”

Allura nodded towards the kitchen. Coran took a cake from the oven, which let out the rich scent of cocoa through the air and made his mouth water, and the framed photograph of their father stared into the lounge with a friendly smile. A part of him hoped his father would be proud of the changes he made, but a part of him feared that his father would be ashamed of the things he said and the things he did. Keith took in a shuddered breath, while closing his eyes to process recent events. He reopened them to see his family surrounding him.

“Thank you, guys,” said Keith.

“I also booked you in for a counsellor,” added Shiro. “I think it’s important you work through your issues and find healthy coping mechanisms, because you _can_ be happy again. I don’t want you obsessing over what you hate, but . . . surrounding yourself with what you love.”

“I just . . . I don’t know how it got this far.”

“What matters now is that we go forward. You can’t undo the harm you did to people, but you can better yourself and help others and never make those mistakes again. Let’s just take this one day at a time, okay? I’m proud of you for admitting you have a problem. You’re strong, Keith, so you can – and will – do well in this world, I promise.”

A tear ran down Keith’s cheek, as he laughed and wiped it away. The drama and negativity and anger was washed away . . . no more logging on to see venomous posts, no more engaging in violent rhetoric . . . no longer did he have to fear and dread any messages in his inbox, but instead he was surrounded by only what he loved and liked. He looked from face to face, as he saw the unconditional support from the people who really mattered, and he knew – with their help – he would never harm another person again.

“One day at a time,” whispered Keith.

 


End file.
